Careful What You Ask For Oregon Series Part 1
by FraidyCat
Summary: For anyone who's ever had a brother. FAIR WARNING: Yes, it'll probably be Charliecentric.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: Careful What You Ask For**

**Author: FraidyCat**

**Genre: Drama, Angst; heavily Charles**

**Time line: Present**

**Summary: For anyone out there who has ever had a brother.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own 'em – but wanna cuddle 'em.**

**Chapter 1**

The brothers glared at each other over the table.

Charlie's voice was low, angry. "Take that back."

A beer slammed to the table. "Take it back? Charlie, we're not kids anymore, there are no 'do-overs'." Don picked the beer back up, drained it. "Besides, I don't wanna take it back."

Alan decided it was time to play the father card. "Don, it was a little harsh…"

"Sometimes the truth _is_ harsh, Dad! Charlie has been a pampered intellectual his entire life."

"I am not pampered," Charlie began, but Alan interrupted him.

"Seems to me that intellecualism you so disparage serves you well when you want your solve rate to go up."

Don stood. "Great, take his side. You always take his side."

Alan held his hands up, refused to say more. He was washing his hands of this.

Charlie was standing too, now, and advanced on his brother. "I am not pampered," he said again.

"Oh, come on, Charlie. You went away to college at 13, and you've never left. You're a tenured professor whose job can't be threatened. You're so afraid to leave the house you grew up in, you bought it yourself — and you make Dad stay here to take care of you. Cook and clean for you like live-in help."

Charlie was nose-to-nose with his brother, now. "I do not! Dad is here because he wants to be here! He does not do all my cooking and cleaning!" He started to turn, then thought of something else. "And you're sure here a lot yourself, for someone who doesn't pay rent."

"I come here to visit my father! I'd be more than happy to visit him at the condo he wanted to buy last year until you guilted him into staying here!" Don ripped his wallet from his pocket, picked a $10 out of it and threw it on the table. "Is that enough for dinner? Who made it, by the way?"

"Dad likes cooking. I don't ask him to do it."

"Nah, you just wander around here in your head-case daze, looking and acting like the things that concern mere mortals are not good enough for you."

Charlie actually poked his brother in the chest, a move that surprised them both. "I don't know what you're talking about. And I do NOT guilt Dad into anything."

"Be a man, Charlie!" Don said disgustedly. "At least admit the truth. Or would that entail actual _feelings_? I know you're not comfortable with those."

Charlie shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, so that he would not put them where he wanted to. "You," he said lowly, "you are not allowed to tell me how to feel, how to act. You are not even allowed to tell me whether or not I am a man."

Don poked him back, then. Turn-about is fair play. "You use Dad. You play both ends. You remind him of times you think he wasn't there for you, when you were growing up. When that doesn't work, you use the memory of Mom. She's not here anymore to coddle you, like she always did. She even went to Princeton with you. You took my mother, and now you're taking my father. You consume people Charlie, _you need them to death!_"

Charlie staggered back as if Don's blow had been physical, and the color drained out of his face. At the same time, Alan's stood and walked between them, with an astonished "Donald Alan! THAT IS ENOUGH."

The three men stood in silence, save for the sound of heavy breathing. Charlie was the first to speak. His color was still pale, but his voice…his voice was harder, angrier, more solid than Alan had ever heard. "Get out of my house."

Don had to push it. "Are you dictating who your live-in help can have over to dinner, now? Dad invited me here."

The youngest Eppes glanced at his father. "Fine. I'll be the bigger man here, Don. Dad is entitled to see you." He looked back at his brother. "But I never want to see you again."

He turned on his heel, and left.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

The office door was closed, and for a moment. Dr. Larry Fleinhardt hesitated.

He had seen Charles teaching his first class this morning when he walked by the lecture hall, he knew that he was on campus today. He read the sign again. Yes, these were posted office hours. Yet Larry had never, in all his years of working with Charlie, seen his office door closed.

"He's gone?" Amita sounded confused from the position she had just assumed behind him. "Wasn't this the day we were all going to lunch?"

Larry turned and looked at Amita. "Perhaps he's in conference with a student who requested privacy?"

She shook her head. "No, even then he leaves the door unlatched, ajar a few inches. He says it's for claustrophobia."

Larry rubbed his head. "Yes, I remember. More accurately, I remember the time I closed the door behind me as I was leaving. Four years, seven months and 13 days ago, I believe."

Amita smiled. "Had a bit of a reaction, did he?"

"Mmmmm. Well, I suppose we could try knocking?"

He turned back to the door, raised a loosly formed fist tentatively. There was no response to his knock, and he turned back to Amita, who had a cell phone to her ear. "He's not answering the office phone," she said. "I guess he forgot." She snapped the cell shut. "Must have gone to lunch with someone else."

"Surely you will not abandon me as well?" Larry lifted his eyebrows at Amita.

"Of course not, Larry," The two headed off down the hall. "Deli or campus?"

"Need you even ask?"

………………………………………………………………………………………………………

He heard the conversation at the door. He sat with his back to it, looking out the window, but he still heard. So his claustrophia was a well-known weakness to his friends. Great.

He watched the students and faculty traversing the sidewalk below. This was his world. He was comfortable here. He hadn't always been. When he was so obviously younger than everyone else…high school especially had been difficult. Not only did he have to contend with bullies and classes that weren't difficult enough to challenge him, his own home was a war zone. His parents were arguing about which university offer he should accept, where he should live, whether or not his mother should go with him for the first few years. His brother, star of the school baseball team, was indifferent at school and angry at home…like he had been last night.

College had been better. It was a relief to be away from everyone's anger, and the kids there didn't seem to care as much about his age. The classes were actually hard. But he knew that his mother was sad, wanted to be at home with his father and Don, so he hadn't been really happy either.

Now that he was starting to look like he could at least be a student, if not always a doctor, he was comfortable. He enjoyed the world of academia. It excited him. The squeak of a Dry Erase marker on a white board. The smell of books. The fact that almost any conversation he entered could turn into a cerebral discussion that could be extended for days. The student whose face would turn from absolute confusion to comprehension during the explanation of a difficult theory.

But what else had he ever done? Was he too safe, here? Even his friends found him predictable and neurotic.

So, yeah, he could see what Don was saying — at least what he had _started_ saying, before he turned ugly. What he said about the way he treated Dad, though, that was wrong. When he had bought the house, he didn't ask Dad to stay there so that he would have someone to take care of him. He just didn't want his father to be alone. If Dad took it upon himself to cook, and clean, that was just Dad…wasn't it?

And when he thought of what Don had said about Mom, nothing else in the conversation really mattered. The anger that seethed through him, whenever he thought of Don saying that he used Mom's memory, that he had _needed her to death_… Charlie could never forgive that.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Colby stood in front of Don's desk, open folder in his hand. "You're sure? This case is a natural for Charlie."

Don opened another drawer, trying to find the red pen. "I said no," he answered shortly. "We don't need Charlie on this."

Colby looked over his shoulder at Megan, who just widened her eyes at him. He looked back at Don. "But it's embezzlement. The suspects are all accountants. There are more numbers in this case than…"

Don slammed a drawer, opened another one. "Dammit, Colby, we have our own in-house experts! If you're having trouble understanding something, go to one of them!"

Colby took a step back, closed the file folder. "It's just that Charlie's so much faster," he said sorrowfully, trying his best to look like a lost puppy.

Don gave up on the right side of the desk, opened the drawer on the left. Then he kicked the puppy. "Just get to work, Granger! You're a federal agent. Show some initiative and stop trying to find the easy way out of everything!"

Don lifted some files to look under them, glared up at Colby and watched the other man slink away. Megan and David were sneaking him looks, and Don had taken just about enough. He looked back down in the drawer, and froze. Staring back up at him, from a small 3 x 5 frame, were Charlie and his Dad. He had taken the photo himself last year, the only time they had ever gone fishing together. It had been Charlie's idea, a surprise charter trip for their Dad's birthday.

He slammed the drawer shut so hard that it shook the entire desk. His red pen rolled off the edge.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

_** Previous Morning ** _

Don stood in front of Director Merrick's desk, looked at the file in his hand. "You're kidding," he finally managed. "Sir."

The Director leaned back in his chair, crossed his hands in a "V" under his chin. "This is procedure, Agent Eppes. While this office has two field-certified teams, no team will work two consecutive violent crimes."

"But they're not even assigned to this office! Alburquerque sent them here to train!"

"They are tentatively under the jurisdiction of this office. They are field-certified. David Sinclair will be assigned to work with them on this case. This could be the case that raises their certification to the level Alburquerque wants." The Director stood, to signal an end to the meeting.

"Because it is procedure, Agent Eppes, and because your team will be down one member, and because I am the Director and I am telling you to, you will work this embezzlement case."

"Yes, sir." Don turned to leave, but Merrick's voice stopped him.

"Granger is the primary on this."

Don turned slowly back around. "What?"

"You heard my orders, Agent. Just as I witnessed your interrogation of suspect Gilliam last week. Pedophile, murderer, it doesn't matter. You still crossed the line."

"You were there?"

"You know I like to drop by the bullpen now and then, see how things are progressing. I'm sure when I saw you put your hand on that suspect, it was a one-time thing."

Don swallowed. "I…it was."

"I've seen you work, Agent Eppes. I have not seen anything or heard anything that would require official departmental discipline. This incident was borderline. Consider this an opportunity to calm down. Unofficially."

Don swallowed again. "Thank you, sir," he said, and turned to the door.

**_ Previous Afternoon _**

The team had been disappointed to lose David, even temporarity, and to lose the home invasion case. Colby cheered up when he learned Merrick wanted him to be the primary — until he opened the file, and saw that the case was embezzlement. Don kept his mouth shut, sat at his desk and waited to be told what to do. That act alone nearly did him in.

Finally his cell rang. "Eppes"

"Donnie, it's your father."

"Hey, pop."

"I just found some excellent tri tips. Come to dinner tonight?"

"Sorry, Dad, I have a date."

Alan sounded even happier. "A date? Anyone I know?"

"Nah. It's only our second date, though, so keep your hopes up!"

Alan laughed. "I'll save you some steak. Do you think you could make it by for lunch tomorrow?"

Don considered. Let's see: Unofficial discipline, nonviolent case, not the primary…"Sure," he almost growled. The beep signaling another call sounded, and his Dad quickly disconnected so that he could take it. "Eppes," he said again.

"Don. How are you?"

He relaxed a little. "Lisa! Great to hear from you. We still on for tonight?"

"Actually, that's why I was calling."

"Has something come up? Do you need to reschedule?"

"Well, not really…" 

Don didn't like the way this was sounding.

"…it's just that since our last date — which was only our first, after all — well, I sort-of met someone. I've seen him every night for a week, and I really think he's the one."

Don was silent, drew his hand across his forehead. "So. No rescheduling."

"You're a great guy, really, Don. If I hadn't met Charlie…"

Don straightened in his chair at that. _"Charlie?"_

"Yes, Charlie Gunderson, why? Do you know him?"

Don collapsed back in the chair again. "No, I… listen, Lisa, best of luck with that. I hope it works out for you."

"Thank-you, Don. I just knew if I was honest with you, you'd understand."

Don clicked the cell shut, opened it again, hit speed dial 1. "Dad? Still making those steaks tonight?"

**_ Previous Evening _**

Don had such a headache by the end of the day, he almost decided not to go to his father's after all. His brother's. Whosever house it was, now.

Half a mile away, the telltale flash of red and blue reflected in the driver's window. Automatically, he looked down. Ten miles over the limit. Please.

He pulled over, had his liscense, registration and badge waiting for the young uniform who approached the car. The kid looked nervous, kept looking back at his partner back by the unit, with another man. "The thing is, Agent, this is a residential area."

"I understand that, officer. My father and brother live here, I'm very familiar with this area."

"Is your behavior this evening in some way work related?"

Don's head was pounding. He put his hand over his eyes. "No."

"The kid looked back again, then said quietly to Don, "We've got a ride-along tonight. Reporter. If I let this go…" Don heard a rip, looked up to see the officer extending a ticket toward him. "I'm sorry, Agent," the kid said. "Maybe you can do traffic school?"

_** Dinner **_

"I'm just saying that it might be a nice break to work on a nonviolent crime for once," Charlie explained, handing his brother the salt.

Don's day exploded, and even he wasn't really ready for it. "What would you know about it? What would you know about anything, Charlie? We all protect you, we all spoil you, so you can stay in your Styrofoam world!"

Charlie dropped his fork. "What to you mean? Who protects me?"

"All of us at work, Charlie, the whole team. We make sure you don't go to crime scenes, and if you show up there anyway someone is always leading you away from the ugly stuff. Usually me. We can't even leave our working files open in the office, Megan is concerned you can't handle the photos. You don't live with the rest of us, Charlie."

The brothers glared at each other over the table.

Charlie's voice was low, angry. "Take that back."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Don relived the rest of the argument on his drive to Cal Sci. It was inexcusable. It didn't matter how bad his day had been, he never should have said those things. Fighting with Charlie was just something he did. It was in his blood — literally. But the last two years, they had been trying to change their relationship, and it was working — until Don had a bad day, threw alcohol into the mix and went too far. He just hoped his brother would forgive him.

He parked the SUV and decided to wait on the bench outside the math and sciences building. He was afraid Charlie might not let him in his office, and he might have a better shot in a public environment. Soon foot traffic picked up, and he knew from the days he had met Charlie here before that his brother's last class was over. He saw him exit the building. No backpack. That was strange. Looking down, watching his feet. That probably wasn't good. He was almost even with the bench when Don heard someone calling after him.

"Dr. Eppes! Dr. Eppes!" Charlie finally heard and turned around to see a small group of students facing him. "That was so cool," a young blonde gushed. "How you made that Plexiglas house blow up." "Right, seconded another student. "And the theory made absolute sense after it was presented that way." "We just wanted to thank you," the third added. "This course is required for most of us, so we have to be here. But you make math so interesting, I'm actually checking the schedule to see what I can fit in next semester!"

Charlie smiled. "Thanks, guys, I appreciate it." The students turned to leave and Charlie called after them. "The paper is still due on Friday!" The group gave a collective groan even as they turned to wave at him one last time.

Charlie was still smiling when he turned to continue down the sidewalk, but when he heard Don's voice, the smile faded.

"Charlie." His brother stood in front of him. "Look, I came to say that I'm sorry, I didn't handle last night very well. I had a really bad day, and I took it out on you. I thought I could give you a ride home?" Don tried for a joke. "I won't go in, if you don't want me to."

Charlie shifted. His eyes darted around to the throngs of students and faculty still passing by. Finally he looked at Don, said quietly, "We're not kids anymore. We don't get 'do-overs'."

Don actually took a step back. "That was one of the things I was wrong about," he started, but Charlie began walking again, brushing past him.

"I have an appointment in Administration right now, anyway, Don. I don't know how long it will last. You should go."

Don couldn't tell whether or not his brother was angry. "I can wait," he offered, but Charlie just kept walking away from him. "No. You should go."

Don decided that he owed his brother some space. He would try again tomorrow.

……………………………………………………………………………………

His brother had talked to him yesterday, so hopefully he wouldn't thrown him out of his office today. Especially when he saw the bag Don was carrying from Charlie's favorite deli. He couldn't refuse to eat lunch with him, could he?

Don rounded the corner, stopped in confusion at Charlie's office door. Several people in maintenance jackets were inside, boxing up all the books. Did Charlie get a new office?

"Don! I was going to call you, but I've had miserable students in my office all day." It was Larry, at his shoulder. "Where has Charles gone?"

Don looked at him. "Gone? What?"

Realization dawned on Larry's face, and he saw the deli bag in Don's hand. "You don't know."

"Don't know what, Larry? What's going on, here?"

The people in Charlie's office were looking at them now, and Larry took Don's arm and led him down the hall to his own office. Once inside, Larry closed the door, looked up at Don.

"Charles went to Administration yesterday, arranged an emergency leave of absence for the rest of the year, through the summer. He also requested a sabbatical for the next school year, although that request must be processed through the proper channels. When I arrived this morning, someone else was teaching his class. I phoned both his cell and home, and got no answer. Before I could investigate further, it was time for my own class. And as I say, Charlie's students are arriving in droves, very upset."

Don shoved the bag at Larry. "Here. Have lunch. Throw it away, I don't care. I'm driving over to the house."

He heard Larry calling after him. "Call me when you know where Charles is!"

On his way, Don phoned his father.

"Dad, are you at home?"

"No, Donnie, not since 8:30 this morning. I'm volunteering at the Senior Center today."

Don squealed stop at a red light. "Right, I'm sorry. I forgot it was Thursday. Listen, I don't want to keep you on the phone, but did you see Charlie before you left?"

"I hope you're looking for him so you can apologize," said Alan. "He was already gone when I got up today — yesterday, too. I didn't hear him come home until very late last night; I was already in bed, half asleep."

The signal changed, and Don started forward again. "Okay. Listen, don't worry, I already apologized."

"I'm glad to hear that, son. What did you need at home?"

"Never mind, Dad, I'm here now. I think I left something here the other night."

"Oh. Well, all right, then. Come for dinner again tonight, if you can. Not sure what it will be…any requests?"

"No, Dad, anything's fine." Don pushed his key in the lock of the kitchen door. "Get back to work. I've distracted you long enough."

Alan laughed. "Anytime, son. See you tonight."

Don flipped his cell shut. "Charlie?" he called, walking into the kitchen. His attention was immediately drawn to a large sheet of graph paper anchored to the table with a glass. He almost felt like taking his gun out of its holster as he approached it. It just felt dangerous. He reached out, moved the glass, read the note:

Dad, Don't worry. Not kidnapped. Just gone. Love you, Charlie 


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

_** Earlier **_

Charlie watched his own house from the trees across the street. It was Thursday. His father would leave soon for his morning of volunteering at the Senior Center. While he waited, he went over his plans one more time. He had come home late last night, after Dad was in bed. He had been quiet when he lifted the large hiking pack down from its hook in the garage, quieter still as he carried it upstairs. He was careful, packing. He didn't know how long he would be gone. The pack always carried a rain poncho, dehydrated food, gloves, a good flashlight, matches. He had added several pair of jeans, even more t-shirts, all the clean underwear and socks he had. It was all rolled very tightly, and he managed to cram his lightweight, waterproof hiking jacket in as well.

As soon as his father left, he would finish. New batteries out of the kitchen drawer for the flashlight. Leave Dad a note. Go upstairs and grab the pack, stop in the garage to attach his sleeping bag, tent and cooking gear. He would wear his hiking boots, but there was a pair of tennis shoes in the bag also. He was glad, now, that he already had all of this equipment. Glad that he had some hiking experience. Glad that he was leaving.

When he had it all, he would take a bus to his bank. Set up a trust to take care of all his scheduled payments and house expenses, withdraw enough cash to last for a while. Once he was out of the city, he didn't want to have to use his ATM card. Don would be able to track that.

He thought of his lap top, his cell phone. It would be hard to leave those. Don could use the phone to find him, as well. He would leave his phone here, buy one of those prepaid things at a convenience store before he left. As for his lap top…if he had that, he would only use it, and this trip was about being someone else. Seeing if he could be someone else. Leaving Dr. Eppes behind, for a while.

He had placed a stub of pencil and a small notebook in one of the outside pockets of the pack, though. Just in case Don was right, and all he turned out to be…lost, without it.

He heard a car engine turn over, saw the garage door lift. Alan Eppes backed the car out of the driveway, headed south. Charlie waited a few more minutes, decided that would be sign. When he left the city, he would head north.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Don sat at the kitchen table with his father. Alan rubbed his hand over his mouth, looked at him. "You have to find him."

"I can't, officially, Dad. He's not a missing person. He arranged his affairs, and left. He's an adult; he can do that."

Alan lifted the note again, re-read it. "I don't care," he whispered. "There has to be some way you can find him."

"Look, Dad, I'm trying. I'm calling in favors all over the place. Charlie's smart. He's been working with various law enforcement agencies, so he's picked up street-smarts along the way. If he doesn't want to be found…"

His father stood abruptly. He dropped the note on the table. "This is your fault," he said to Don, "the things you said that night…" Alan's eyes widened as he heard his own words, and he rushed to Don's side of the table, placed a hand on his son's shoulder. "Oh G-d, Donnie, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

Don reached up and placed his hand over his father's. "It's okay, Dad…you're probably right anyway. If we hadn't had that argument, I doubt that Charlie would have done this."

Alan sat down again, this time in the chair closest to Don. "But you apologized. You told me that you apologized."

"I did, Dad, but Charlie never really answered me, he was on the way to a meeting; on the way to arrange his leave of absence, as it turns out." He turned frightened eyes to his father. "What if I went too far this time?"

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

By the time Charlie had made it to State Route 99, it was already afternoon. He turned down the first few rides he was offered. He liked to walk. He wished he had his bicycle, but it was one too many things to worry about right now.

He had a few dollars in his pocket — most of it was stashed in various hiding places in his pack and sleeping bag — so he stopped at a roadside store for water, a bag of chips. He sat outside to eat them, finished the water and decided to go back in and buy another bottle for the road.

"Where you headed?" asked the clerk, as she rang up the second bottle. "That's a lot of pack."

Charlie shrugged. "Not sure," he admitted. "I'm not really on a schedule."

She checked the clock. "Look, I'm off in half an hour. Going to Bakersfield tonight to pick up my son from his father's. I can take you that far."

Charlie smiled. "I'd appreciate that. Haven't done this much walking in a while."

"Take a load off out back by my car," she said. "The door to the restroom is out that way, too, if you need to get rid of that other bottle of water."

Charlie blushed, thanked her again and left the store. He stood by her car for a while, then decided to sit down and change his shoes. No sense in getting blisters. Then, more to kill time than because he had to, he went into the restroom and used the privacy to add a few more bills to the stash in his pocket. He would give her some money for gas. As he hefted the pack again, he was struck by his face in the scratched, cloudy mirror.

He looked happy.

A few hours later, Debbie dropped off her passenger, his pack and his boots at a small, roadside motel near Bakersfield. She gratefully accepted the $20 he offered for gas, wished him a "great vacation" before she spun out of the parking lot.

There was a telephone booth in front of the motel — unused in years, it looked like. Charlie thought about using his prepaid phone to call his Dad, but he didn't want to give Don anything to work with. He would have to figure some way out to contact his Dad later. At least he had left the note, so he should know that he was safe. That would have to do.

He entered the office and the wizened night manager looked at him.

"Don't got no phones, no TVs, no fancy bathtubs in our rooms," he said in greeting.

"Uh…that's okay…" Charlie began, but the old man had taken in his dusty boots and backpack, knew he had a hitchhiker on his hands.

"Need to see some cash," he ordered. "$25, one night."

Charlie reached into his pocket, put the last two twenties he had there on the counter. "Room have a bed?" he asked, tentatively.

The money disappeared, a key arrived in its place. "Double." A guest register was shoved at him. "Let me keep this here change, don't even have to use your real name."

Charlie smiled, picked up the key. When he got a little farther away from L.A., he'd stop throwing his money around this way.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Alan took the elevator up to Don's office, saw him sitting at his desk, phone to ear, as soon as the doors opened. As if he knew who it was, Don looked up, raised a hand in greeting and stood to meet his father.

"Let's go in here," he said, indicating a conference room. Alan just barely waited until the door was closed. "Well?"

"Nothing at any airports, bus stations. Not even a taxi ride out of the city. But we knew he was probably walking when he took all his hiking stuff."

Alan looked away, his brows drawing together. "I hope he's not hitchhiking."

Don waited until his father was looking at him, again. "No hits on the ATM card. There's no way to tell which way he's headed, where he's going." Don looked at his feet for a moment, back at his father. "Dad…I think we have to wait to hear from him."

Alan's eyes welled up with tears. "I can't do this," he said. He rubbed Don's shoulder on his way out of the conference room, and took himself back to the elevator.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Charlie hit the road early — the motel room scared him, a little. He didn't know why the guy bothered with a key, since the door was unlocked when he got there. He propped a chair under the doorknob, got a few hours sleep, took the shortest shower of his life and was back out by 6. He walked into town until he found a McDonald's, and ate his breakfast on the way back out to the highway. He was still drinking the bottle of water he had bought with it when a pickup, cab crowded with what looked like college students to Charlie, pulled over quickly, the tail nearly knocking him over.

"Dude, we're headed for Cal State Stockton," the driver was hanging out the window, yelling. "Throw your stuff in the back; climb in with it!" A young brunette hung out the passenger window. "We can make room up here for you!" she offered.

Charlie approached the window, saw that there were already four people in the cab. "Thanks, I'll just ride in back with my stuff," he said. "Can you drop me before you exit for campus?"

"No problem, dude!" The truck was already starting to move, and Charlie barely managed to jump in the back fast enough. All of their luggage road with him, and as Charlie hurtled toward Fresno he managed to create a small windbreak fort for himself in the bed of the pickup. He curled up in a ball, head away from the cab — even through the metal, the music was giving him a headache already — and looked at his watch. It should take about three-and-a-half hours to get to Stockton, but Charlie only made it two hours and 44 minutes. He used his feet to stomp on the cab for at least five minutes, finally raised them to kick at the window behind someone's head. The truck screeched onto the shoulder so fast that some of the luggage actually flew out.

"Dammit, happened again," Charlie heard the driver mutter as he hung out of his window again. "Dude, can you pick that stuff up and throw it back in for me?"

Charlie jumped out, pulled his pack with him. Now that he wasn't at warp speed, he could see a road sign indicating the first exit to Stockton. He picked up a duffle bag, swung it into the bed of the pickup. "How fast were you going?"

"Don't know, dude. Speed thing's broke."

Charlie threw another bag into the truck, slammed his hand twice on the side panel. Hands flew out the window at him, the truck spun out fast enough to kick pebbles at his face, and as he lifted his hand to protect himself, he could have sworn he heard it again, over the beat of the hip hop. "Duuuuuuuuddddeeeee!"

Charlie dragged his pack as far into the shoulder as he could, sat down next to it until the truck was out of sight — which was not long. He hadn't walked yet that day, and he was actually looking forward to it. He shouldered his pack and started out.

At first he thought the students had somehow come back up behind him. He heard screeching, horns blaring. He turned to see a car swerving, over-correcting. The vehicle in the passing lane was clipped, and was going fast enough that he lost control. Of course, everybody was following too close behind everybody else. Charlie automatically dropped his pack again, reached into the outside pocket for his cell phone. He was already dialing 911 when cars started to flip all around him.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

He ran for the car closest to him, but people were already getting out of it. He headed instead for a smaller, older car, still on its roof. He could see smoke clouding around it.

"Help me! Get me out!"

He could hear the frantic voice even before he kneeled down to look. No air bag. Woman, middle-aged, blood on forehead.

"Are you all right?" Charlie called, choking a little in the smoke.

"Yes, yes, just get me out! Get me out!"

He tried to look around the rest of the car. "Are you alone?"

She was crying, now. "Please! Hurry!"

He was tugging on the driver's door, but getting nowhere. "Are you alone?", he yelled again.

"Yes! Yes! Hurry!"

Charlie jumped up, looked around him. There were people at all the other cars involved in the accident, but he was alone, here. He knew he shouldn't move her, but when he stood he saw a small flicker of flame come from the bottom — which was now the top — of the car. He ran to the passenger side, jerked on that door. Finally he lay on the ground. "Cover your face!" he yelled, waited until he saw her do it. Then he put his hiking boots through the window.

Another man had joined him now, and used something to knock most of the glass out of the frame. "You're smaller," he said to Charlie, but Charlie didn't even hear him. He was squiggling through the window, cutting his arms through the sleeves of his jacket. When he reached her, a shoulder belt held her hostage, and she was unconscious. Not screaming any more. Charlie could see flames through the windshield now, and with more fear than strength he jerked at the seat belt mechanism, heard it click, felt her drop almost on top of him. He wiggled backwards out from under her, hooked his hands under her arms, and felt someone pulling his feet. More glass had been kicked away from the window leaving the frame almost clear, and he hoped they were getting her out without doing more damage. Charlie and his passenger suddenly popped through the window of the car as if they had been vacuum packed, and the other man let go of Charlie's feet to take the woman's. Together they carried her away from the flames, away from the car, laid her on the road. Charlie hoped it was far enough away. He looked back at the car and saw several other people there now, some with small fire extinguishers. The car was fully engulfed in flames, but maybe they could keep it from blowing up, or spreading to other cars. He turned his attention back to the woman. Was she breathing? Charlie put his ear to her mouth, a hand on her chest. Nothing.

Quickly, he tilted her neck back to clear the airway, and with two cleansing breaths began to give her CPR. Later, he would realize that not that much time passed before EMT units began to arrive on the scene, and he felt arms pulling him back. But those moments that he breathed into her, compressed her chest, continued to check for breathing…those moments felt as if they lasted forever.

He stood back with the crowd for a while, barely even noticed when another paramedic removed his jacket and treated the cuts on his arm. CPR efforts suddenly stopped, and Charlie's heart dropped, but then he saw them turn to address her other injuries, place oxygen over her face, and he knew that she must be breathing on her own again.

"Everybody back to your own vehicles, unless it's one of these in the MVA. We don't need to clog this place up with sightseers." A uniformed CHP officer was clearing the crowd, and Charlie backed off with the rest of them, his jacket slung over one arm, and suddenly realized that no one was holding him. He looked back at the woman again, saw the paramedics preparing to lift her to a gurney. As he kept walking, he passed a throng of officers, heard people explaining. There were other witnesses. He wasn't really needed here, anymore. He could use the confusion to just walk away.

He reached the part of the road shoulder where he had dropped his pack, looked around. He was sure that it was near the road sign, he had just started walking again when all this happened. He walked a little farther, saw the prepaid cell phone where he had dropped it. This had to be the place, then. Charlie looked around a little more, but the sinking feeling in his chest wouldn't go away. His pack was gone.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Charlie picked up the cell phone. It was probably broken, but he shoved it in the back pocket of his jeans and walked on in to Stockton. On the way, he thought. He still had his ID. If he flexed his foot just right, he could feel it digging into his ankle. It had slipped down some, since he first shoved it in his sock this morning, but it was still there.

In one front pocket he had $40, in the other, $20 and change. $200 more was zipped into the lining of his jacket. Unless…in a momentary panic he stopped, shook the jacket out in front of him. He let out his breath in relief. It looked like he'd ripped up and bloodied the sleeves pretty good, but he could still see an intact lining.

By noon he was in a large grocery store. The first things he picked out were a small notebook and a pen, a fact that even he found interesting. He added a couple of bottles of water, a sandwich from the deli. Near the pharmacy, he priced bandages and toothbrushes, finally decided he had to have both, and took the most inexpensive he could find. Farther back in the store, he actually found a bin of irregular t-shirts, and he routed through it until he had two in his size. He calculated. Almost $20, already. Charlie paid for his purchases and wandered the streets, grocery bag clutched firmly in hand, until he found a bench to sit on.

As he unwrapped the deli sandwich, Charlie thought about his ATM card. Whoever took the pack would probably never find it, sewn into a pair of shorts, but Charlie couldn't take that chance. That account was paying for his Dad to stay in the house. He chewed for a while, drank some water, pulled out the cell phone. When he got a signal, he was surprised. They made these things better than he thought. By the time he had called directory assistance, been connected to the bank, and found an actual person, rather than voice mail, to report the theft to, the cell phone was fading. He confirmed his information, disconnected and looked at the phone. Two minutes left. It didn't matter. It was more a friend than a phone, now, anyway. He put it back in his pocket.

He sat on the bench long enough that he almost fell asleep in the afternoon sun. Then he started to wander the streets again. He was startled to find himself in front of a post office. He went inside, bought a postage-paid envelope from a vending machine, added it to the treasures in his grocery bag.

Then he headed out of town again, on the way passing a farm supply store.

Inside, he managed to find some jeans. On sale, but still…another $20?

He looked around some more, found a pair of khaki cargos for only $16.

As Charlie lightened the load in his jeans pocket even more, he asked the clerk for directions to the nearest truck stop. When he exited the store he shoved the jacket in the bag with the khakis, changed his t-shirt right there on the street, and headed for the Interstate 5 junction. Maybe he could score a real ride.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

By the time he got to the truck stop, he wished he had his tennis shoes to change into again. He sat at the counter in the restaurant, ordered a grilled cheese, and took out the envelope, notebook and pen while he was waiting. He ripped out a sheet. He wasn't sure what to say, or even how he could mail it without worrying about Don tracing the postmark, but he wrote it anyway.

_Dad — Safe, healthy. Please don't try to find me. Sorry I left the way I did, I didn't mean to hurt anyone. Please tell L & A for me. Miss everyone —even Don. Will try to contact you again later. Don't worry. Love, Charlie_

He sealed the note in the envelope and was addressing it just as his dinner arrived. "Want me to mail that, hon?" Charlie was considering how to politely decline when a thermos slammed down on the counter next to him, making him jump.

"Fill that up for me, Sally! Headed south, gotta be in San Diego by morning!"

The waitress continued looking at Charlie. "You will just wait your turn, Bob. I'm helping this nice young man, here." She held out a hand. "Mail?" she asked again.

"Actually," Charlie snuck a look at Bob, whose beefy hand still held the thermos. "Could you? From San Diego, I mean?"

Both the trucker and the waitress looked at him like…well, actually, not all that strangely at all. They must have heard odder requests. "If it'll get my thermos filled up faster, you betcha!" bellowed Bob, and he ripped the envelope from Charlie's hand, stuffed it in a shirt pocket. Sally rolled her eyes, grabbed the thermos and sashayed off, and Charlie just hoped Bob would remember the letter by morning.

"Looking for a ride?", the trucker asked, while he waited for his coffee. "Or just mailing a letter?"

Charlie grinned. "I'm headed North. Thanks, though."

Bob started to turn to meet Sally at the register. "You finish that sandwich, you hit the pumps. Lots of guys headed North tonight, and you need more than coffee to keep you awake over the Siskiyous."

"Thanks," Charlie said, but he said it to the air. Bob was already gone.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Sure enough, after hanging out at the pumps for a while, Charlie spotted a truck headed in the right direction. He was looking it over when a voice sounded in his ear. "She's right purty, ain't she?" The man was taller than he was, and even thinner, but he was holding the tell-tale thermos.

"She yours?" Charlie ventured.

"Sho'nuff. You should see her all polished up, at the start of a run."

"You headed North?"

"All the way to Ashland, Oregon. Got me a half a load of newspaper inserts to drop off, full load to pick up and take back to Sacramento."

"Need some help staying awake? Over…over…over the Siskiyous?"

"How much gear you got?"

Charlie held up his two bags. "This is it. My pack was stolen." He saw the man focus on the bandage on his arm. "I, uh, I was in an accident."

"Seems to me you been having a bad day." The apparition clapped him on the shoulder. "Name's Joe. Don't pick up no strangers."

It took Charlie a second to catch on. "Charlie," he finally sputtered. "Name's Charlie."

"Well come on, Charlie, hop on in." Joe rubbed the back of his sunburned neck. "Hell, boy, might even let ya drive."


	10. Chapter 10

_**A/N: The events depicted herein are an act of fiction, and not recommended for real life. Do not try this at home.**_

**Chapter 10**

Don entered the kitchen at a run, startling Alan, who sat at the kitchen table. "What?"

Don took a breath. "One favor cashed in. Charlie's ATM card was reported missing this afternoon."

"By Charlie?"

Don grinned. "Yes, Dad, by Charlie — or someone else who knew all the right codes."

His father paled, and Don hurried on. "It's no one else, Dad, you wouldn't kidnap a guy, steal his ATM card and then report yourself."

"Has anyone tried to use it?"

Don paced the kitchen floor. "Don't think so. I've got a lot of contacts I can use unofficially, Dad, but the information's never going to be as good as if I could go after it with my badge."

"Can we tell where he was calling from?"

Don stopped pacing and frowned at his father. "No. If I could have ordered the phones at the bank tapped, and used a GPS tracer…but he left his cell phone here, anyway."

Alan sighed. "I found his wallet today. The only things missing are that ATM card and his learner's permit. Probably took that for identification?"

"I guess," Don said, his earlier excitement deflating. "Shit, Dad, I'm so sorry…"

Alan looked at him sadly. "I know you are son. All we can do is trust Charlie now." His father looked even sadder, suddenly. "Maybe we haven't done enough of that."

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

It was the most incredible physical feeling he had ever had. It was better than sex. Despite what Don might think, Charlie had experienced sex. Several times. Enough times, now that he thought about it, to know that piloting an 18-wheeler down the freeway in the middle of the night was not as good.

But it was a damn close second.

It was 3:30 in the morning when he heard Joe ask, "Ya wanna drive, Charlie?"

"_What?"_ He had been ashamed that his voice actually squeaked. "I'm sorry. I don't really have a license."

"To drive the big rigs, ya mean?"

"Well, no. To drive…at all." Charlie was glad the cab was dark enough that he didn't have to see the other man's face. After a few more miles, though, skinny Joe arched himself to the steering wheel, said, "Slide on in here under me."

Charlie wasn't quite sure what to think of that. Joe was talking about driving, right?

"It'll be all right, boy, nuthin' ahead but flat road."

He couldn't help it. He slid on in under Joe. Joe twisted like a pretzel, disappeared for a minute to the bottom of the cab. Charlie started getting scared again when he felt Joe's breath on his leg. Then a skinny hand grabbed his ankle, planted his foot on the pedal. Joe popped back up, slid over toward the window. His teeth glowed in the dark when he grinned. "How's that feel?"

Like the second most incredible thing he'd ever felt, in his life. Like the truck was a beast he was riding. Like the vibration of all those wheels channeled into the circle in front of him was going to rip the steering wheel right out of his hand. Like he had lost his mind.

"Good," he answered.

"Just need me 20 minutes," Joe said, and curled into the window. "Y'all don't move nuthin'."

So Charlie drove on, into the night.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Seventeen-and-a-half minutes later, when the two had switched back and Charlie realized what he had done, he started shaking. He thought he might get sick.

Joe yawned. "Get me summa that coffee, will ya Charlie?" He kept talking as Charlie tried to pour the hot liquid without spilling it, dropping it or throwing up in it. "Tell ya what. Help me drop this load and pick up my new haul and I'll give you twenny bucks. Even take ya out fer breakfast." He shot a side glance at Charlie, accepted the coffee. In the dim light of the cab, it looked like he was grinning again. "A trucker's breakfast. Celebrate your first run."


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Charlie looked in awe at the plate of food before him. This was for one person? He had always thought his father tried to push too much food on him, but…this was for one neighborhood?

"Worth driving a few extra miles into Phoenix for this," said Joe, buttering an English muffin and dipping one of his bacon strips into the gravy threatening to overtake Oregon. He drained his coffee, signaled the waitress for more. "Be back in Sacramento by this afternoon," he said, "and I'm sleepin' tonight. How 'bout you? How much further ya goin'?"

Charlie's fork approached an egg with caution. What kind of chickens did they raise here? "Don't rightly know," he said, and froze. _What did he just say?_

"If I didn't already have that haul, I'd catch me some fish up to Shady Cove."

Charlie decided to try the mound of hash browns, which appeared to stop somewhere short of the ceiling. "Is that close?"

"Oh, yeah, Highway 62. Nice rural route. Beautiful country, southern Oregon, ya get yerself off'n this freeway."

"Is fishing season open?"

Joe smiled at the waitress who topped off his coffee, took another swig. "Don't much matter," he said. "Rogue River's somethin' just to look at."

Charlie felt like he had eaten more food in the last 10 minutes than he had for the first 32 years of his life, but his plate looked like it hadn't been touched. He looked at Joe's plate. Almost empty.

"Need some help with that?"

It was not possible for this man to be that thin.

Charlie pushed the plate at him. "Do you think I could walk there?"

Joe was already making inroads into the hash browns and it was hard to understand him. "Wha?"

"Shady Cove?"

"Oh, oh, sure. Take ya a while. Go on North about four miles into Medford, ask around for Highway 62…" Joe appeared to be looking over his shoulder, and Charlie jumped when he suddenly hollered, "_Tiny_!"

'_Hollered', thought Charlie. My brain just said the word 'hollered'._

Sure enough, the Tiny who soon appeared at their table was anything but. "Hey, Joe, haven't seen you in a coon's age. Where ya haulin' today?"

"Back home after breakfast. This here's Charlie," Joe indicated him with a fork. A piece of egg flew off and narrowly missed Charlie's face. He hoped it wasn't in his hair. "You still retired?"

"Still off the road," answered Tiny. "Like to come out here on Saturday mornin's to keep up with the drivers." He looked at Charlie. "Hey."

Joe pushed away his second plate, not quite empty, reconsidered and pulled it back. "You got time to take him out to Shady Cove?"

"Don't see why not." Tiny's eyes darted between the two men. "Hitcher?"

Joe winked at Charlie. "Nah. He helped me drive last night."

"I was going camping," Charlie offered. "My gear was stolen."

Tiny took a toothpick out of his pocket, picked at his teeth for a moment. "Well, this here is the yard sale capital of the world," he finally said, "so if you've got a few bucks, you can set yourself up again. County parks are open now, too."

Charlie looked at his benefactors and felt like he was at the bottom of a rabbit hole, looking up. "Um…there's a campground there?"

"Sure, sure, right on the river," supplied Joe. This time he really pushed the plate away. "Wish I could go with ya."

Tiny stretched, an act that seemed to expand him like a balloon. "Next trip, Joe. Or maybe this summer, when school's out — bring yer boy."

School. Colorful as these characters were, Charlie suddenly really missed his students, Larry and Amita. He was nearly lost in his own thoughts when he felt Joe kick him under the table. "What?"

"Better git goin', Tiny's halfway to his car, already. Nice travelin' with ya, Charlie."

Charlie scrambled out of the booth, quickly shook Joe's hand. "You too," he said sincerely. "Y'all have a good trip home."


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Getting Charlie set up became Tiny's Saturday project. In the car, he picked up a newspaper so that Charlie could sit down, and turned to the classifieds. "We'll hit a few of these on the way," he said. Charlie had barely set his bags on the floor when Tiny plopped the paper back in his lap. "Hold that." He started backing out, glanced at Charlie again. "And buckle up. This here's Orygun." Charlie didn't quite make the connection. Was he talking about a state law? Or was he saying it was particularly dangerous here? While Charlie was still wondering, Tiny hit the freeway so fast that the tires squealed. Maybe both, Charlie decided, and he closed his eyes and clutched the shoulder strap.

At the first yard sale, Charlie picked up a canvas backpack, in near-perfect condition, for $2. Back in the car he placed his worn plastic bags inside. The next few sales didn't help much, but Tiny seemed to be having a good time. At one he even talked a guy into selling him some of the firewood he had stacked at the side of the house, and Charlie helped him fill the trunk of his car. Then, at the fifth yard sale, Charlie struck gold. With the $20 Joe had given him, plus the last $20 from his own pocket, he got a small tent, a sleeping bag, even a thin foam pad.

Charlie watched the scenery through the car window. They were in a valley, and it seemed like every horizon was mountainous. They left Medford after stopping at a food warehouse. Charlie carried his jacket on his arm, tried to access the lining when no one was looking and slip one of the bills into his pocket. Stocked with water, matches, a few snacks for a dinner Charlie was still sure he'd never want, after that breakfast — even a sweatshirt — he parted with another $40. If he gave Tiny only $10 for an entire morning's work, he would have only $150 left…

"How much is the campground?" Charlie asked as they accessed Highway 62.

Tiny shrugged. "Cain't be much. It's a county park. And this here's Orygun."

In spite of his concern Charlie smiled. He had discovered the gem of the universe, apparently — at least according to Tiny.

Every few miles he saw road signs announcing the name of a city — but somehow, he kept missing the cities. The road began a series of curves, the trees became magestic. Charlie drank in the view. All this was so close to Pasadena? He had to get out more. He saw the sign for Shady Cove — population 2,307 — noticed the businesses. Fishing outfitters, raft rentals…Charlie could smell a serious river coming up. He was looking forward to this campground.

Suddenly, they were there. Rogue Elk county park. They stopped at the entrance so Charlie could drop his $16 fee in a locked wooden box, take his permit from a slot below it. "This early in the season, ya pretty much gotcher pick," observed Tiny as they drove slowly through, and Charlie soon picked a spot right on the river. It was all he could do to pull himself away from the water long enough to start taking his stuff out of Tiny's car. Tiny popped the trunk and started throwing the wood by the fire pit.

"That's for me?"

The bigger man smiled. "Sure. Nights still get pretty cool around here. Grab that newspaper — you can use it to help start a fire."

Charlie shoved a hand in his pocket. "Please, let me…"

Tiny paused between tosses to hold up a hand. "Keep yer money, Charlie. Can't have a buddy of Joe's freezin' on the river. Besides, this here's…"

"I know," Charlie interrupted, grinning. "This here's Orygun."

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Charlie set up his camp, bare as it was, explored the campground. Only a few other sites contained gear, and he only saw a few people. The restrooms had flush toilets — that was good — even showers. Joe had let him have the "free shower with fill-up" that morning at the truck stop, so he wasn't desperate anymore, but he wished he had thought to buy a towel.

He was drawn back to the river. Being early May, it was still swollen with recent rains and snowmelt from the surrounding mountains. The waters ran swiftly by, green and deep in some places, white ripples breaking over rocks in others. _Larry would love this_, Charlie thought, and he missed his friend again. He missed all his friends, and his father. He missed teaching. Of course, it had only been three days. One hell of a three days, but still…

He stood on the bank and listened to the roar the river made when you were this close. Funny, he did a fair amount of hiking and camping, but in-between, he always forgot how loud water could be. And Charlie had to admit it, this river was something else. Sometimes, it almost sounded angry. His eyes went again to the trees. He could look at this forever.

He wandered back to his campsite, suddenly tired. He opened the sleeping bag onto the ground. It was still warm, and he didn't want to be inside right now, not even in a tent. He lay on his back, and counted clouds, until the sound of the river lulled him to sleep.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

He awoke several hours later, freezing. It was almost dark, and someone was throwing his wood around, standing almost on top of him. Charlie involuntarily yelped as he shot off the sleeping bag, stumbling backwards, looking frantically around him for something to protect himself with.

"Whoa, hold up there, take it easy." The man held up a stick of wood. "I'm just starting your fire for you. Been watching you for two hours, and my wife is convinced you're going to freeze to death. I told her this was a bad idea, coming into someone else's camp…HEY! Don't back up anymore, you're going into the river! If you think it's cold out here, I wouldn't recommend the river in May."

Charlie stopped, breathing heavily. "Who are you?", he finally managed.

"Sam." The man knelt down, kept working on the fire. He reached into his pocket, took out a matchbook, lit the paper. "Brought you some kindling," he added. "All you got is big pieces, here." He continued to feed the fire, looked up at Charlie. "Hey. Mr. Deer-in-the-Headlights. Got a name?"

Charlie came a little closer to the fire. If he was going to die, he wanted to be warmer when he did it. "Charlie."

Sam added one of Charlie's pieces of firewood. "Well, Charlie, Jenna says you should come to dinner. Fresh Spring Salmon, caught it this morning. First thing I've caught in 'near a week. You like fish?"

Charlie couldn't believe it, but Sam talking about food was making his stomach growl. He took one step closer. "Yes."

"That's us over there," Sam indicated with a swing of wood, and Charlie peered a few campsites over. Someone waved at him. "We'll get this fire going good, first." Charlie's stomach rumbled again, this time loudly enough to embarrass him. He saw Sam's grin in the firelight as he placed another log, slowly stood. "Right," he said. "It's going good enough for now."


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

After dinner, Charlie and his new friends kept their faces toward the river, even though it was too dark to see it.

"That was great, Jenna. Thanks."

"You're welcome, Charlie. I grew up out here, on the river. My father loved it, and he taught me all his secrets…even campfire fish recipes!"

"You're good enough to be a chef."

She laughed. "Well, short-order cook, anyway."

"That's what she does," Sam informed him. "We're kind-of between jobs, now. We're just bouncing from campground to campground, staying our two-week limits, hoping to get by until tourist trade picks up."

"Places around here will increase their hours, soon," continued Jenna. "We'll get something seasonal. At least one of us. Sam's an outfitter."

"A what?"

Sam laughed. "Fishing guide."

"Do you do this every year?"

"I always have," Sam said. "Try to pick up some day labor work in the winter. Unemployment's pretty high around here, last few years. Jenna just lost her job about four months ago. The restaurant where she worked went under."

"And it didn't take long for our savings to go under too," Jenna laughed. "But this is okay. We're okay out here." Her voice sombered. "Like I said, I grew up on the river. I don't want to leave it."

"Your family can't help?"

"It was just me and my Dad for a long time," she answered. "Lost him last year, too. I miss him."

Charlie felt his heart wrench. "I'm sorry. I lost my mother not too long ago."

"Mine lost me," Sam put in, throwing another log on the fire. "Never had much use for me, either one of them. My father thinks I'm a bum because I work a seasonal occupation, but I don't have much education or training for anything else."

They were silent for a while. "Jenna, though, she could be an artist," Sam finally said. "You should see her pencil sketches."

"I'd like to," answered Charlie. "Maybe tomorrow, in the daylight?"

She laughed again. Charlie loved her laugh. It came so easily, seemed so genuine. "I don't draw anymore, Charlie, that was just a dream."

"You're still good," Sam insisted. "I've seen your 'doodles', as you call them."

"You shouldn't give up on a dream," offered Charlie.

Her voice was pensive, now. "I don't know. I think dreams give up on us, sometimes. Dreams are what we have as children. You know, 'I'm gonna do this when I grow up.' Then we grow up, and what we actually do is…life, I guess. Life gets in the way of dreams."

When neither of the men said anything, she went on. "Think about it. How many adults do you know who are doing what they dreamed about doing as children? Sam wanted to be a cowboy." A low chuckle sounded from Sam's corner. "How about you, Charlie? What did you want to be when you grew up?"

He didn't have to think about it, he knew the answer, but his voice was soft. "A teacher."

"So?" It was Sam's voice. "What are you doing right now?"

This, Charlie had to think about. Finally he answered, in a voice even softer, so soft they could barely hear it over the sound of the river. "Right now," he said, "Right now, I'm learning."

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Charlie cast the line out over the water. "Are you sure this is okay? Don't I need a license or something?"

"Of course you do," Sam laughed as he cast out his own line. "But Jenna's not fishing today, so let's just say you're her. Besides, most of the Fish & Wildlife guys around here know me. They probably won't bother us."

Charlie waded a little farther out into the river. Damn, this was cold, even through the borrowed rubber hip boots. "Probably?"

"Well, if you see one, just don't panic and drop the pole. Jenna will kill you."

"Nice of her to offer to do my laundry with yours," Charlie said.

"Hell, kid, you're paying for it. It's the least we could do." Sam reeled in, recast. "Now shut up. You're scaring all the fish away."

The two men fished in silence, without so much as the sound of a salmon chewing a worm, until Jenna appeared at the bank. "Give up," she called. "Come and have lunch. I got something special in town."

Soon Charlie was sated from his third meal with his neighbors. He wandered back to his campsite, and again fell asleep in the sun.

_It wasn't mathematically possible. Anyone could see that. The tires were simply not wide enough to maintain a person's body weight in an upright position. Not even if that person was only seven years old, and his father was helping him. "Don't let go," he begged, and he heard his father laugh. "You're fine, son, you're doing fine! Daddy's right here!" They passed his mother on the sidewalk, and he heard her voice, worried. "Don't let him fall on the cement!" He was going too fast, he couldn't hear his father's breath in his ear anymore. "Daddy!", he yelled. "I want to stop!" There was no answer, and Charlie tried to look behind him, but he was afraid to stop looking at where he was going. Suddenly remembering the bike's braking system, he yelled again. "I'm going to stop!", but the entire conglomeration began to wobble, and he felt himself tipping. Suddenly, he was on the ground, looking up through the spokes, and his father was running toward him from over a block away. Had he ridden all that way alone? It scared him to be on the ground, and he was crying by the time his father reached him. "Why did you let go?", he begged, and Alan lifted the bicycle off. "I didn't, son," he answered. "You let go of me."_

Charlie jerked awake. This was insane. What was he doing? He let a stupid fight with his big brother separate him from his father, from his friends, from his teaching, from all that he loved? He was pulling people out of wrecks, driving trucks, fishing rivers, and letting his father worry?

He shivered. Time to start the fire again.

That night he sat in the doorway of his tent, just far enough from the fire to still feel it, watched the sun set over the river. He was buried in his head, staring out at the water long after it was dark, and Sam and Jenna left him alone.

Just like he had left his father alone.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

The next morning, Charlie took Sam and Jenna to breakfast in Shady Cove, then stayed in town alone when they went back to camp. He actually found a convenience store where he could buy some more minutes for his phone. He walked the streets, picked up some brochures at the Visitor's Center. Sat in a small park, and made a phone call. When the local branch of his bank opened, Charlie spent several hours with the manager, grateful for his photographic memory of numbers.

Afterwards, he found another store. He bought a towel, a disposable shaver. Maybe tomorrow he could fill Sam & Jenna's car up with gas and they could all go into the Big City, Medford. He had seen a mall there, a Wal-Mart. Places with underwear.

He looked at his watch. 3 p.m. There was a pay phone in front of the store, and he walked over to it, called Larry — collect. His friend was so delighted to hear from him, and so forgiving, that he felt even guiltier about the way he left. After their conversation he walked back to the campground, which was only a few miles from the town proper. He had learned that they were called "towns" here. Small Town America. Somehow, Charlie had ended up in the middle of it.

He got back to the campground in time to shower, change into the clothes Jenna had washed for him. He started the fire — they'd have to buy more wood tomorrow, too; where were Sam & Jenna getting theirs? — and pulled out the phone. He looked at his watch again. Almost 6. No time like the present.

Alan was sitting on top of the phone. Probably had been for five days, now. "Hello?"

"I'm sorry."

"Charlie? CHARLIE! My G-d, Charlie, is that you?"

"I shouldn't have left like that, I should have had more respect for you. I'm sorry."

"Are you all right, son?"

"Yeah, Dad, I'm good. Are you okay?"

Alan was barely holding back tears, Charlie could hear it in his voice. "Charlie, Charlie, I'm fine, son. Now that I hear you."

"I really am sorry, Dad. It was selfish."

"I love you, Charlie. When are you coming home? You're in San Diego? I just got your note in the afternoon mail!" His father was rattling, now.

"No, Dad, I had somebody mail that for me. To throw Don off. I'm actually in Oregon."

"_Oregon?"_

Charlie smiled. "No, Dad, not Ore-e-Gone. Orygun."

"What?"

"Never mind. I'm just over the border, near a small town, Shady Cove."

"Do you need me to send you some money? Don said you reported your ATM card stolen."

"Good thing I had that truck driver take my letter to San Diego, huh?"

"Truck driver? Charlie, are you sure you're all right?"

Charlie laughed. "Yes, Dad, I'm really fine. Listen, I don't need any money. There's a branch of my bank here, we got everything straightened out today. I'm good."

"Then you'll be home soon?"

The smile faded. "Listen, Dad, I'm going to stay here a while."

"Charlie?"

"I'll be home in time for fall semester. I called Cal Sci today and withdrew my request for a sabbatical. I'll keep in touch. I wanted to give you my new cell number, you know, in case there's an emergency."

Alan was silent for a moment, finally said, "Donnie's here. Just got here. He came over to see the note. Do you…"

"Dad, I don't want to talk to him," Charlie interrupted. "Not right now. Please."

"What? Charlie, he's your brother."

Charlie had a momentary stab of panic. "He's all right, isn't he? Nothing happened, at work or anything?"

"No, Charlie, nothing happened. Except you disappeared."

Charlie closed his eyes. "I'm just not ready, yet. Not ready to come home. Not ready to talk to Don. Besides," he added lamely, "this is one of those prepaid things. I'm running out of minutes."

"Give me the number, then. Are you sure you don't need some money? Are you eating all right?"

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Charlie waited until he saw the glow of Sam and Jenna's campfire, walked to the edge of their site. "Hey," he said.

"Come on in, kid!" greeted Sam. "Caught some today! Jenna's just getting ready to serve 'em up!"

Charlie entered the circle of light, sat down cross-legged on the ground. He accepted the plate Jenna offered with a tentative smile. "Guys?" he said. "Guys, I've got something to tell you."

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

"_She loves you best," sniffed his little brother from his chair in the corner of the living room. "She always believes you." Don smiled. It wasn't exactly true. Their mother didn't really love him more, he just had more practice at convincing her of things — like who broke her favorite vase. He sure wasn't going to risk being grounded himself. He had a sandlot game tomorrow with the guys. This was too good to pass up though. "I know," he said to _

_Charlie. "She was my mother first, you know." Charlie started to cry in earnest then, and their mother came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. "Donnie! What have you done to your brother now?" The 11-year-old scowled. "Nuthin', I didn't do nuthin' to him." Their mother frowned, put her hands on her hips. "Anything. I didn't do 'anything'. Leave him alone, now. Just go outside and play for a while." She looked at her youngest, whose shoulders were heaving. "Can't you see that you've hurt him?"_

Don awoke in a cold sweat. He couldn't believe that Charlie had refused to talk to him. He was so relieved to know where he was, that he was safe; so happy that their father could relax a little now, although he wouldn't be happy until he had Charlie in his arms, again. But then he had heard his father say that he was there, he had figured out that Charlie was saying that he didn't want to talk to him…maybe he was the one who wasn't safe, now. Maybe he was the one who was lost.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

It wasn't hard to hear the sound of the river, because no one at the campsite was talking.

Sam finally placed his plate on the ground in front of him. "You're a what?"

"A teacher," Charlie answered. "A professor, actually, at Cal Sci. It's in the L.A. area."

In the dusk he could see Sam arc both his arms outward. "So what was all this about? Doing some research on some small town locals?"

"No, no, it's not like that. I didn't intend to come here. I didn't even know there was a Shady Cove. I didn't know where I was going. I just left. It's only the second week of May, the school year isn't even over. I had some kind of meltdown, or something, walked away."

Sam didn't say anything, so Charlie continued. "Besides, I teach applied mathematics, what could I be researching?"

Sam affected a southern drawl he didn't really have. "Beats me, bein' a high school drop-out myself. Could be yer jist seein' how many rednecks ya can count."

Charlie pushed himself to his feet. "Look, I'm sorry. I never meant to offend 

anyone. I can understand if you want to part ways, now." Charlie shifted. He decided he was going to say what he thought, from now on. "Although I never actually lied to you. My name is Charlie, I am out here learning…"

Sam was on his feet now, too. "Learning to eat our food? To pretend you're as broke as we are?"

"I was, I told you I just started walking. I had my hiking gear and some money with me, but it was stolen the second day. I went to the bank today, we have everything straightened out, now. If you'd like some money for the food…"

Sam batted at Charlie's hand angrily when he went for his jeans pocket. "We shared with you because we wanted to. Why did you go running after more money? Can't take it out here on the river, anymore?"

"I love the river," Charlie started quietly, but Jenna interrupted. The two men had almost forgotten that she was there.

"What did you say to me last night, Sam Carver?" He didn't answer, so she did it for him. "We were watching Charlie looking at the river, and you said, 'Sitting there is a haunted man, honey, something's on his heart tonight.' Have you even heard what he's been saying, or are you too busy trying to make yourself insulted? _He left his life_, Sam, he just left. He was _living his dream_, and he walked away. You think a man does something like that just so he can hitchhike to Oregon and make fun of you?"

Sam hung his head, looked at his feet for a moment. Finally he lowered himself to the ground again. "Math, huh? Number stuff."

"Right. Number stuff."

"Well why don't you get on down here, then, and tell me how many fish are in this pan."

Charlie crouched cautiously near the fire. "They're all cut up. How can I tell?"

Sam smiled. "Well, if you had helped me gut and fillet those babies, you would know that there were two of them. Guess you got some more learnin' to do."

Jenna was beside Charlie then, picking up the plate she handed him earlier and adding fish to it. She handed it to him again. "Are you going back now? You got straightened out whatever made you leave?"

Charlie shook his head. "No. I left for one reason, but I'd like to stay for others, too. In the last five days I've met quite a cross-section of people. Some of them are bad enough to steal from a hitchhiker, but most have been incredibly kind, generous, open — like yourselves." They all chewed for a while, threw the occasional fish bone in the fire. "I haven't spent enough time with people. I'm enjoying it. And it's so beautiful, here… Plus, there's still that first reason. I haven't figured out what to do about that, yet."

Sam exchanged a glance with Jenna in the firelight, then looked back to Charlie. "We're going to move on tomorrow," he said. "We're at our two-week limit, here. We thought we'd go on up the road to Lost Creek. The season will kick in on Memorial Day, and they might be hiring."

"Lost Creek?"

"It's only about an hour further up the road. Big ol' lake, and marina. Real popular with boaters and water-skiers. There's a small restaurant where Jenna might get on, and a state park and campground."

"We were going to ask you to go with us," Jenna added. "Split the cost of a campsite…"

"Yes," Charlie jumped in, excited. "Yes!" His demeanor abruptly changed. "But…well, that is…"

"Want something fancier than camping, now?" asked Sam.

"No, it's not that, no…" Charlie was glad that it was dark, that they couldn't see his face very well. He finally just sputtered it out. "I haven't changed my shorts in five days. Can we go to Medford first?"

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

They were still at Lost Creek by noon, setting up camp. Suddenly Jenna looked over at Sam. "We've got our site, now. Let's wait until morning to talk to the marina manager. Crater Lake is only 40 more miles."

Sam smiled, looked over at Charlie pitching his tent several feet away. "You saw his face when this lake first came into sight out on the highway. Crater Lake might kill him."

"Sweetie," she wheedled, "I haven't been there in years."

Charlie looked up, saw them staring at him. "What?"

"Get back in the car, kid," Sam shouted, jogging past him. "We've got some more learnin' for you do."

Charlie settled in the back seat. "Are you going to teach me to drive?" he asked Sam, who was momentarily startled. "That's why you walked? Not because you just don't have a car?"

Charlie was embarrassed, now. He took his time connecting the seatbelt. "Can't really drive," he finally admitted, then looked up hopefully. "But I have a learner's permit!"

"We got all kinds of back road for you to learn on, Charlie, don't worry. Just not today."

Charlie soon saw why. He had thought they were already high in the mountains, but the roads kept getting narrower and the trees kept getting thicker. They weren't just trees, anymore, this was a forest. He was in the middle of a forest. He watched the green road signs and guessed where they were going. "Crater Lake?" he asked, unaccountably excited. "I've heard of that. It's a National Park."

"Yeah," answered Sam. "You've seen pictures?"

"Yes, my friend Larry, he's a physicist, was researching the Secchi disk reflector used to determine the penetration of sunlight into the lake." Charlie saw his friends exchange a look. "Well, he's a hiker, too," he added a bit defensively. "We hike together sometimes, and have talked about hiking the Pacific Crest Trail some summer. It goes through the park boundaries."

"So maybe you won't be learning much after all," Sam finally said, "but I can guarantee you this: pictures just don't do it justice."

By the time they had reached the park's entrance, Charlie was surprised at the amount of snow he could see. "Backcountry gets a lot of cross-county and snowshoe action in the winter," said Jenna, "but there won't be many people up at the rim this early. The parking lot is probably still half snowed under. There's an old, historical hotel up there, too. I think it's been renovated. Anyway, it's probably snowed in. Here," she reached over the seat to hand Charlie a newspaper the Park Ranger had given them at the entrance. "Tours aren't up and running yet, but you like to read, right?"

The way to the rim was long and windy, and Charlie had some difficulty looking down to read. After a while, though, the massive walls of plowed snow on either side of the car began to make him feel like they were in some odd, silent tunnel. His claustrophia pricked up its ears, and he decided that he'd rather risk a headache, instead, and turned back to the newspaper. A few more minutes, and Sam and Jenna heard a low whistle from the back. "Wow. 1,943 feet deep. That's 23,316 inches." Charlie was still doing calculations when Jenna's voice came to him, softly, and he realized they weren't moving anymore.

"Charlie. Look."

He lifted his head. His body began to move independently. He didn't even remember unbuckling the seatbelt, but now a hand was opening the door and feet were walking across a parking lot, legs were climbing up onto a snow drift. He didn't hear anyone, but he felt a firm grip on his shoulder. "Better not go any further," Sam said. "Snow drift could break off and drop you 2,000 feet into the coldest water in the world. I think. What's that newspaper say?"

"This is the most intense blue I have ever seen in my life," Charlie breathed. "The scope and size of this, it's stupendous…over five miles in diameter, it said."

Jenna was beside him then, pulling at his elbow. "Back away a little, both of you. It scares me up here." She pointed out to an island in the lake. "That's Wizard Island. If you're here long enough, we can come back later this summer. You can hike down this trail from the rim, and take a boat out to the island."

Charlie looked at her, eyes wide. "I can touch the water? I can walk on the island?"

Jenna shivered, pulled again at his elbow to make him back away. "Only if you're still alive."


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

Charlie looked through the postcards in the small store adjacent to the tiny restaurant at the marina. Now that it wasn't a secret where he was, he could send his Dad a picture of why he was staying. Sam was right, though, the views of Crater Lake didn't really do it justice. There was a nice one of the river, though. It looked like it could have been taken back down at the campground they had left yesterday. He settled on that one, and a bottle of water. "Do you have a stamp I could buy?" he asked the man working the register, and he indicated a machine near the door. Charlie thanked him, stopped to buy a stamp — how much to mail a postcard, now? better just overpay and go for first class — and walked out into the sun. The lake was quite a ways in the distance, he could barely see it. He decided to go back to the campsite. He needed his pen.

Jenna was there when he arrived, and he looked expectantly at her. She and Sam had left early to catch the marina manager before things got hectic. She smiled at him. "Couldn't be better," she said. "Start training next week. Once the season starts, I'll be the afternoon cook." Charlie grabbed her, spun her around. "That's great! That's great!" She laughed when he let go of her. "We can stay here, too, in the campground. And guess what?" Charlie just shook his head. "Main cook's pregnant, might leave at the end of the season. When they reduce the hours in the fall, if I've done a good job, I might be able to stay out the year!" Sam trudged up behind his wife, then, slipped his arms around her waist and squeezed. He looked up at Charlie. "I think we got us a lucky charm here, girl. Keep feeding him."

She twisted in his arms. "Sam?"

He grinned. "Gonna expand my horizons. Turns out I know just enough about boat mechanics and bullshit to talk myself into a tryout at the marina."

Jenna squealed, jumped and wrapped her legs around Sam's waist. Charlie took that as his cue, and headed for the shore of the lake. He would get his pen later.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

The three of them sat in the larger tent and watched the RV through the rainfly. Back up an inch. Jerk forward two. Kill the engine. Restart it. Back up seven feet. Knock over the trash can. Charlie sneezed, and when it appeared the RV was headed for the electrical hook-up, Sam had all he could stand and burst out of the tent into the rain, jogged up to the RV. Soon, an older man climbed down and moved to the back of the space while Sam climbed in the driver's seat. Sam straightend out the RV and the old man waved him back. Once he had parked, Sam climbed down, talked a little to the man.

While they watched Sam, Charlie sneezed again. "You should have woken us up," Jenna said again. "You could have come in here. Rain put the fire out anyway, so an extra body might have warmed it up in here a little."

Charlie looked sadly at his tent. Turned out his yard sale bonanza had a few leaks. At least he had stowed his pack in a corner that stayed relatively clear of rain, and he was able to change into dry clothes after a night of shivering in a rainy tent. "It'll dry," he finally said. "The rain will stop sometime. Won't it?" She shrugged. "Southern Oregon. How do you think all this stuff got so green in the first place?"

Sam burst back into the tent, then, shaking rain water off like a dog after a bath. Jenna "Hey!"-ed him and threw him a towel. "Poor old guy," Sam said, rubbing the towel over his head. "Wife used to help him park, but she can't travel anymore. He wanted to try and take a trip without her. I don't think it's working out too well." He sat down again, and they all looked toward the RV. "Poor old guy."

"Well, we can't cook dinner tonight," Jenna said, routing through the supplies they had moved into the tent. "Looks like chips without the fish." Charlie sneezed again. "You," she said, still searching through the food to see what she could find, "are staying here tonight."

Charlie looked miserable. "My sleeping bag is in the tent," he muttered. "It's all wet."

"Use one of ours," Sam offered, but Charlie just looked at him. "Look, math prof, even I know three people and two bags equals sharing. I'm offering you a sleeping bag, not my wife. I'll take her with me. Mine's oversized, anyway."

"The bag," Jenna hastened to add, and kept talking over Sam's laugh. "The bag is an oversized one that we sometimes share, anyway. And we probably would tonight. Going to be cold again, with no fire."

Charlie couldn't help it, he started giggling, and that turned into a laugh, ended abruptly with a spasm of coughing. Sam was smiling at him, but Jenna was looking outside, again. "Rain's letting up," she said, "but it will be back with a vengeance. You should go out now, go over and take a hot shower. Do you want me to run to the store at the marina and see if they have anything for a cold?"

Charlie grabbed his pack, sneezed, giggled again. "Sorry." He touched Jenna's hair as he passed. "I'm okay, just a cold, don't worry so much." He straightened his back and stretched his spine outside the tent. He could just see the lake through the trees. Empty of boats and people today, receiving offerings from above today. He looked back at his friends. "I love it here," he smiled, and headed for the showers.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

When they said there was a tourist season here, Charlie observed, they really meant it. The last week of May had passed idyllically. Sam and Jenna were both starting work, but the three of them managed odd road trips almost every day. Charlie couldn't even remember all the names. Natural Bridge. Prospect. Diamond Lake. The postcards he sent home were all addressed to Alan and Don, but Charlie made sure to make any phone calls to Alan early in the day, when there was less risk of having to make a decision. Sam took Charlie out driving several times, and he progressed to the point that he was allowed to drive on some of their trips. Two days before Memorial Day, he was gone almost all day with Bill, the RV driver. When they got back, Sam had to park for him again. Charlie grabbed a couple of bags and walked back to the tent site with him. The park was already filling up, and by noon on the Friday before Memorial Day was over three-quarters full.

"This is a different feeling," Charlie mused. The three of them sat near the lake shore, sharing a picnic table. It was the last evening Jenna would be off work early enough to join them.

"Gets even busier," she said. "By the time the season is over, we'll be pining for those solitary nights on the river."

Charlie stood and walked toward the shore, hands in his pockets. He stood there for a while, but he was looking down at his feet, not at the view in front of him. He went back to the table. Sam was watching him.

"I'm not sure how to do this," Charlie started, still standing. Abruptly, he sat down.

"You leaving?" Sam asked quietly, but Charlie surprised him.

"No. I mean, yes, eventually, probably soon, but that's not it."

"What is it?" Jenna's voice was gentle.

He looked at them sincerely. "I've had a great time, these last few weeks. And before, at the river, from the first night that you started my fire so I wouldn't freeze to death — I think you guys are great. You know that?"

Jenna smiled. "Actually, yes, we do."

Now Charlie looked confused. She explained. "Last week. You had a fever one night with that cold, when it was still raining and you were in our tent?" She winked at Sam. "You talk in your sleep. At least when you have a fever."

Charlie felt himself blush.

"Giggle, some, too," Sam put in. "Don't want to know what that's about."

Charlie felt the blush go deeper. He tried to redirect the conversation. "I don't want to do anything that might offend you," he said, and everybody stopped smiling. "Really."

Sam turned his back to the lake, toward Charlie on the other side of the table. "What is it?"

Charlie held out his hand, and Sam automatically cupped his under it. Charlie dropped a set of keys into Sam's hand. Sam just looked at them for a second. "These aren't for the car," he finally said.

"The RV," Charlie said softly. "Bill's RV. When we went into town the other day, we stopped at the bank. I got him a cashier's check."

Jenna stared. "You bought the RV? You just learned to drive a car!"

Charlie reached into his pack, withdrew some paper. "This is the title. I want to sign it over to you, now."

Neither Sam nor Jenna spoke, so he hurried on. "You'll need it, if you stay here during the winter season. Rain, snow, sleet, hail…this place has all that stuff mailmen hate. And if you don't want it, later, for some reason, you can always sell it."

Sam tried to hand the keys back, but Charlie dropped his hands to his side. "Please," he said, "I think I got a good deal, it's not as much as you think. Bill said he only brought it up here one last time hoping someone would make an offer."

"This is too much," Jenna said. "We can't…"

"A barter, then? A trade?"

"We don't have anything but the car," Sam started, but Charlie was rummaging in his bag again.

"I want to remember you guys, I need to remember everything about this trip, but especially you. I don't have one of those cell phone camera things with me, but, here…" he placed a sketch pad and a set of charcoal pencils on the table. "If I could have a Jenna Carver original, something with all of us in it…" He saw Sam smile, saw Jenna touch the box of pencils.

"We have disposable cameras in the store," she said.

"You gave me back my dream, Jenna. Can't I do the same for you?"

She was crying now, reached across the table to touch Sam's arm. "You can do this," he said, reaching back to smooth her hair. "You can." Then he looked at Charlie. "Exactly how much money does a college professor pull down these days?"

Charlie grinned. "Really, it wasn't that much. Even the teller at the bank thought Bill was crazy." He reached into the bag, again. "Almost forgot. I prepaid a year of insurance, but this guy is waiting for your ID before he issues it. You can call him, fax a copy of your license and the title, once I've signed it…"

"Wait," Sam said, but Charlie was ahead of him.

He pushed the paperwork over to Sam. "Just drive him home to Medford, after the long weekend. Then it's yours." He pushed a hand through his hair, added, "there is one more thing."

Jenna was still crying, but she managed a tiny, "What?"

"I promised Bill I would go to the coast with him in mid-June. Some senior citizen bus trip he and his wife signed up for a long time ago. She can't take it now, and he doesn't want to take it alone. Says he wants to see the ocean one last time, then both he and his wife will move to a daughter's home in the Midwest."

Jenna brushed a forearm over her eyes, looked at Sam. "Where on the coast? Did he mention Highway 101?"

Charlie shrugged. "I don't think so. But it sounds like a creek. Water."

"Brookings?" asked Sam.

Charlie smiled. "Yes, that's it. Why?"

"You're taking a bus over Highway 101 to Brookings?"

Charlie's smile faltered a little at the tone in Jenna's voice. "Not a good idea?"

She leaned over, kissed him on the cheek. "I'm sure you'll love it."


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

Don was almost all of the way to Sacramento before he even knew what he was doing. He had woken up, early on a Saturday morning, reached for his cell to call Charlie and ask if he wanted to go to the batting cages later. The realization that there was no Charlie anymore catapulted him into the SUV and onto Interstate-5. This was ridiculous. He saw a road sign for Sacramento, finally focused on one, and it hit him what he was doing. He took the next exit — didn't even know where this was — sat in a grocery store parking lot for a while.

He didn't even know where in Oregon Charlie was, right now. The postcards were coming from everywhere. He was on a freakin' vacation, or something.

Don pounded a hand on the steering wheel. Dammit, he knew that Charlie was an adult. He'd been there for most of the birthdays.

Charlie talked to Dad about every 10 days, from what he could figure. Postcards arrived every few days, addressed to both of them, saying nothing. Just an address, a stamp, a picture, a large scribbled "Charlie" in the space he was supposed to say, "Wish You Were Here." But he didn't. Charlie didn't wish he was there. Charlie was there to get away from him.

At least he had withdrawn that sabbatical, he'd told Dad he would be home in time for fall semester.

Don hated this. He had let go of Charlie before, when he'd gone off to play baseball, later to join the FBI. He had stayed away for years, only coming back when Mom got sick. Things were pretty distant between them by then, and most of his efforts were devoted to work, and Mom, so they didn't get closer very fast. Yeah, he had let go of Charlie before, but it was his choice, then. Now Charlie was letting go of him, and Don hated it.

He pulled out of the parking lot, cruised until he found a gas station to fill up. Waiting, he looked through the CD collection. Many of them were Charlie's, since he rode with Don in the SUV so much. Don usually made him use his headphones. Classical. Charlie said classical compositions were like an equation set to music. So Don turned around, headed back the way he had come, and listened to Vivaldi so loud that the SUV vibrated.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Once the frantic first long weekend of camping season was over, things settled into more of a routine. Jenna spent her mornings before work with her new sketch pad and pencils, brought them with her when they all went somewhere on a rare day off. Once, they drove back down to Rogue Elk and Charlie was shocked to see how different it looked, how full of activity it was.

When Bill had been returned home and the Carvers moved into the RV, Charlie kept their tent and site across the way. He didn't really like being in the RV for extended periods of time, it felt too closed in. Still, he joined them often for meals, played poker with Sam while they waited for Jenna get off from work. When he would go back to his tent, he could often see soft light coming from the RV late into the night. Sam said he couldn't get Jenna to put her sketch book down, but she would never show either of them what she was working on.

Early in the morning on the day before Bill picked him up for the trip to the coast, he wandered down to the shore with his cell phone. He called his father. While he waited for an answer, he checked the minutes. "Only 12 minutes left, Dad," he said, when he heard someone pick up. After an odd pause, he heard Don's voice. "I can get him. He's making breakfast. I stayed here last night." Charlie gripped the phone tighter. "Is everyone all right?"

His brother's voice was strained, uncomfortable. "We're okay. "You?" The phone began to cut out. Reception was never good up here, sometimes didn't come in at all. "Say Hi To Dad!" Charlie yelled just before the lost the connection. He looked at the phone again. Still 10 minutes left. Still the same prepaid phone that had brought him this far. Still his old friend. Why did he feel like throwing it away, now? Like it had betrayed him, somehow?

Charlie jammed the phone in his back pocket anyway, ran a hand through his hair, and decided to go the marina for breakfast.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

The second time he stumbled into the tiny bathroom on the bus and heaved his guts out, Charlie began to think of ways to get even with Jenna. When he was done, friendly hands reached out to help him back to his seat. The elderly passed him along like a wounded puppy. He collapsed beside Bill.

"You all right there, young fella?", the older man asked. "I probably should have warned you about this road. Been driving over it so long myself I forget what it's like for a first-timer."

Charlie closed his eyes. "Road? This is not a road. This is an alternate universe."

Bill chuckled, gave him a pat on the arm.

"If you measure the length of this bus," Charlie continued, "and the distance between curves, it would seem that a piece of solid machinery is somehow turning one corner while part of it is still coming around the one behind it."

"Funny how that works, huh?"

Charlie opened his eyes, was startled again by how closely the wall of rock to their right was to the bus. "If the windows were open, rocks would fall in," he said, and to his dismay Bill agreed.

"Yep. Gotta keep a lookout for rock slides, too. Sometimes part of the mountain just slides off, blocks the road for awhile."

Charlie didn't want to think about what happened if the mountain decided to do that while they were…under it? In it? On the left side of the narrow road was a gorge hundreds of feet deep, with another river running through it. Charlie felt as if he were on some sort of carnival roller coaster, a ride he had always avoided. He groaned.

"When we come back in a few days," Bill advised, "We'll sit up front. That's supposed to be easier." As an afterthought, he added, "and don't eat breakfast first."

The mention of food brought Charlie to his feet, again. "Maybe we should sit in the back," he muttered as the elderly began the wounded puppy pass again. "Next to the bathroom."


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

Brookings surprised Charlie. It was much larger than he expected, yet still somehow retained its small-town atmosphere, even when you were standing in line at McDonald's.

"Sorry you missed the Redwoods," Bill was saying at his shoulder. "Didn't want to wake you up. You sure you're hungry?"

Charlie was, actually, but still afraid to trust it. He turned and lifted his bottle of water at Bill, who shook his head.

"What people will pay for these days."

"BUS LOADING! BUS LOADING!"

Charlie walked through the lot and stood at the bus door, occasionally helping someone up, glad to be able to assist the many willing hands that had been passing him to the bathroom all morning. Now that they were on solid ground, again, and he could smell the sea air all around him, it was almost worth it.

The group was staying in the only hotel that sat directly on the beach. Charlie was relieved to see two beds, surprised to see a swimming pool and hot tub, fascinated to stand on the balcony of the room and watch the endless waves.

"I'll sit here," Bill said, "just look out, and listen. Got some memorizing to do." His voice sounded sad, and Charlie thought he could use some privacy.

He walked across the street to a gift shop, where he bought a pair of bathing trunks, on a whim, and a pound of homemade fudge to share with Bill. He wasn't even sure the old man could eat it, but Rocky Road Fudge? He was sure someone on the bus would enjoy it.

Half an hour later, while Bill still sat on the balcony — this time with fudge — Charlie swam lengths in the pool, looking up at each end to make sure the ocean was still there. When he had moved to the hot tub, and found himself looking at it more than at the two young ladies who had joined him, he made a decision. He was going in.

Five minutes later, he stood just out of reach of the incoming waves. It was still only June, but other people were in there. He could see them. He looked around, heard the squeals of a little girl holding her mother's hand, both of them walking in the surf. "I can't get this close," he thought. "I can't get this close and not do it. Dude." He thought of the truckload of college kids and smiled. "You can do this."

He ran headlong into the next wave, kept running for what seemed like forever, on the shifting sand. He figured it must be shifting, because sand did that sort of thing, but he couldn't really feel it anymore. He kept running because he knew if he stopped, his legs would break off in the cold water. He kept running until a wave lifted him up and sat him back down again, a gentle rolling he liked so well that he did it a few more times. Then a wave broke right in front of him, slammed him with the force of a giant under the water, pulled him relentlessly, wouldn't let go. He was sure he was going to die. And then he was lying on the beach, water still trickling around him, looking up at the bus driver. "You might not want to go out so far, next time," he said, helping Charlie to his feet. "I gotta take back as many people as I leave with."

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

"You going swimming in the ocean again this morning?" asked Bill over breakfast, and Charlie shook his head. "Think I'll stick to swimming in the pool, wading in the surf."

"Funniest thing I've ever seen," continued the older man, "even though I couldn't see it that well from the balcony. Made me wish I had my binoculars, though."

Charlie picked up another piece of toast. "Shut up, old man."

Bill laughed out loud at that. "Listen, Charlie," he said, and his tone turned serious. Charlie looked at him. "I want to thank you for taking this trip with me. It means a lot. I wonder if you can help me with something?"

"Yeah, of course, Bill."

"I'm happy on the balcony," Bill started. "But watching you plow into that water yesterday…I want to touch it, again. Just get my feet wet in the ocean one last time. I don't walk all that steady anymore, even on concrete. Would you go with me, later this afternoon?"

And that's how Charlie ended up, several hours later, helping Bill balance on a huge driftwood log near the motel, while he knelt and took off Bill's shoes and socks, rolled his pants up almost to the knees. They started toward the water, Charlie carrying a small bag with him. He was glad his hand was at Bill's elbow when he stumbled right away.

"Sorry," he said, "that wasn't my balance. I just wasn't paying attention. I was looking at those boys, over there." Charlie followed his gaze to a pair of children running along the surfline with kites. "Reminded me of my brother and I, for some reason."

Charlie felt a heaviness settle in his chest. "Is he…gone…now?"

Bill looked at him. "Gone? Oh, dead, you mean. No, no. At least I don't think so, not last I heard. Haven't really seen him in twenty years."

"He lives far away?" Charlie asked.

"Not really. Here in Oregon. Just a few hours from Medford."

Charlie didn't say anything, but Bill kept going. "I think we had a fight, once," he said. "Seems to me that it must have been a fight. It's a shame, really." Bill stopped walking, but was still looking out on the water. "I can't even remember what it was about, now. Who was right, who was wrong." He started walking again and Charlie hurried to catch up. "People — families expecially, I think — we throw each other way like it was nothing. Like we can be replaced."

Charlie waited until Bill was standing in the surf, exclaiming at the cold, but with a smile on his face, and seemed to be standing steady. Then he kneeled quickly, took the two baby food jars that he had bought and cleaned earlier out of the bag. He dug them one by one into the sand until a little fell into the jar, then filled them with the incoming surf. He screwed on the lids, stood and held one out to Bill. "Here," he said. "One for you, one for me. So we can take Oregon with us."

Later that afternoon, while Bill slept on the balcony, Charlie made a few calls. Then he sat down at the desk with a sheet of hotel stationery.

_Sam and Jenna,_

_I'm having Bill drop me at the airport in Medford when we go back tomorrow. It's time to go home. I'm sorry not to be able to say goodbye in person. Bill says he'll hand-deliver this letter to you, and I'll call you at the marina from the airport, so you don't worry until he gets there. Anyway, I want to thank you both again for all you've done for me. You'll never even know all you've done for me. I'll be back, you can count on that. I'm including all my contact information. Please stay in touch and let me know how you are. I'll miss you both._

_Love, Charlie_


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

Don drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. Impatiently he waited for someone to pull out of passenger pick-up, so that he could pull in, and replayed Saturday's phone call in his mind.

"_Eppes."_

"_Hi."_

"_Charlie? Charlie? Are you all right?"_

"_Yeah, Don, I'm good. You?"_

"_I'm okay. I'm at my place now, if you're looking for Dad…"_

"_No, actually, I was looking for you."_

_Don waited._

"_Do you think you could pick me up at the airport Monday morning? I know it's a Monday, so if you can't, I can…"_

"_No! I mean, yes! Yes, Charlie, I'll pick you up! It's not a problem. We just tied up a case, so I'll take a personal day, have Megan head up the team."_

"_You're sure?"_

"_Of course. Where are you coming from?"_

"_I'll fly from Medford. I'll be there tomorrow night, in a hotel near the airport. I couldn't get a flight until early Monday morning." Charlie laughed a little. "Early. I have to be at the airport at 3:30."_

"_You didn't used to go to bed before then."_

"_Just start circling pick-up at United around 7."_

"_Do you want me to bring Dad?"_

"_No, don't tell him. Let's surprise him. Besides," Charlie's voice had changed a little, then, become more distant. "You and I should talk, first. Maybe go out to breakfast?"_

"_Yeah, ok. 7, then."_

And now here he was, stuck in line at the airport, searching the sidewalks for his brother. He should be able to see his pack, at least…

Someone was knocking on the passenger window. Don looked over. Shit. Charlie. He hadn't cut his hair since he left, and it was pulled in a loose ponytail at his neck. He hadn't shaved in at least a week. He was only carrying some small pack Don had never seen before. Where was his gear? Charlie knocked again, smiled, and Don pulled himself together enough to unlock the door. Charlie climbed in, put the pack between them, buckled up.

"Thanks for coming," he said, sincerely.

Someone was honking at Don now, and he had to shift into gear and move. "No problem," he said. "Thanks for asking me to." He looked sideways at his brother, wearing khakis and a sweatshirt and hiking boots. Looking tanned, healthy. Relaxed. He looked back at the road. He didn't think he had ever seen Charlie relaxed before. His movement was always frenetic, constant. Just before he left, he had managed to somehow remove the fitted mattress pad from the bed during his sleep, while still leaving the fitted bottom sheet intact, like some kind of weird magician's trick. He neared the airport exit, and heard Charlie talking.

"Can we stay on I-5, find a truck stop? I feel like a real breakfast."

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Don looked in awe at the plate of food before him. This was for one person? He had always thought his father tried to push too much food on him, but…this was for one neighborhood?

He looked at Charlie. His brother had pushed up the sleeves of his sweatshirt, prepared to do some real work, and it looked like his plate was half empty, already.

"What happened to your arms?", Don asked, noticing the fresh scars when Charlie pushed up his sleeves.

His brother glanced down, fork halfway to his mouth. "I'm not sure you'd believe me," he finally answered.

"How about all your gear, then? You spent a lot of time collecting that stuff."

"I know," Charlie said, a little sadly. "It's…" his eyes flickered at Don, back down to his plate. "It's gone, now."

Don finally gave up on his breakfast, drank some coffee. He had to admit, this was really good coffee. Strong. "You look good," he offered.

Charlie was satisfied with the condition of his plate, considering his first experience with a truck stop. He leaned back in the booth, looked at Don full in the face for the first time.

"I feel good. I feel…different."

Don raised his eyebrows and waited.

"I'm excited to get back to full time research, full time teaching, full time consulting…but things are going to change, a little. I want them to. I want you to help hold me to it."

"What things?"

"I'm going to take more risks," Charlie said. "Spend more time with people. Appreciate more." He lifted his glass of water, smiled through it at Don. "I'm going to get my license tomorrow."

"What? You haven't had your permit, this time at least, all that long…"

Charlie placed the glass back on the table. "It's okay," he said, almost nonchalantly, his lack of tension surprising Don again. "I've been practicing a little." He grinned. "You want to help me buy a car next Saturday?"

Don smiled back. "Sure. If you want me to."

A waitress came and removed their plates, filled up Don's coffee. She left, and he took another swig for courage.

"Charlie," he finally said, "if I had been messing around with my gun, say, handling it with the wrong attitude and a little alcohol, and it had gone off accidentally, and shot you…I couldn't take that bullet back. I would want to. I would do anything I could to help you heal, afterwards. But that scar would still be there."

Charlie was playing with his glass, listening.

"That's what I did with my mouth," Don continued. "I lost control, I shot off some words, and I can't take them back. Even though I want to. I can't make it so it never happened."

After turning the glass around a few times, Charlie answered. "Some of what you said, about me being pampered in my intellectual world all my life, it hit so hard because I've often wondered the same things, myself. Could I do anything else? Was I too secluded, too protected?"

Don tried to encourage him. "And?"

"And," Charlie said firmly, letting go of the glass and looking him in the eye, "I think I've been very blessed, to have learned so early what I love, and to have been able to make that my life. It's nice to know I can take care of myself, if I have to, but it's also nice to fully appreciate what was always there."

Don smiled, but Charlie continued. "What you said about Dad, about Mom…those things weren't true. They weren't accurate, and you're right, you can't take those words back in once they're out."

Don felt his heart sink. Still his brother continued. "The last six weeks, though, that's on me. That time is lost, the time between me and you. I was wrong to let that happen. To make that happen…and I can't get that time back, either. It was an important six weeks for me, an incredible six weeks for me. But it will always be a lost six weeks for us. That's on me."

Don looked for a ray of hope. "Then we're even?"

"No," Charlie said, and Don felt his world collapse again. But Charlie was smiling, a slow smile that started as a grin, expanded to his eyes. "We're better than even," Charlie said. "We're in a game that doesn't keep score. We're brothers."

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Don turned his key in the lock, opened the door of his brother's house. He could see his father in the living room, in the chair, the paper held up in front of him. "Hey, Dad," he called.

Alan turned a page, but didn't turn around. "Donnie. No work, today?. I'm still checking the sports section, but there's a game on the Sports Channel you'd enjoy in…" he tipped one wrist toward him to check his watch, "a couple of hours." He turned another page. "Why don't you get a deck of cards out? We've got time for some poker, first."

Charlie dropped his pack in the doorway of the kitchen, walked quietly through to the living room. He stood between the raised paper and the couch. "Hey, Dad," he said.

"Charlie, hey, stop and play some poker with us," Alan said, and then his own voice echoed back to him, the paper dropped and he saw his youngest son beside him. He dropped the paper and rose from the chair as if in a dream, took his boy in his arms as if he would never let go, murmuring his name over and over, frantically clutching at his hair.

"Dad, ease up on him," Don finally said, trying to pry his father away a bit. Alan took a step back, and looked from son to son. "You two are all right?", he asked, and they both smiled.

"Yeah," Charlie answered for them both. "Yeah, we're good."

Alan couldn't help it, he hugged him again. Then he cleared his throat, stepped back and picked up the paper. "Okay," he said. He looked at his watch again. "Two hours before the game. You have time for Donnie to drive you to a barbershop."

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

A/N: Not quite over yet… 


	21. Chapter 21

EPILOGUE 

"Emergency?" Colby asked.

Charlie smiled. "_Emergence._ Cognitive Emergence Theory. I'm still developing this, but I believe the research I have done already can greatly improve our understanding of this case. With the data you've gathered for me, I should be able to have a preliminary finding by tomorrow afternoon."

"Isn't that kind-of soon?" asked Megan. "Or are you going to get someone to let you in on the school's super computer tonight?"

They were all walking to the bullpen from the conference room.

"No, actually, I can use a program I'm designing myself. I'm still beta testing, and this will be a perfect run for that."

"Congratulations, then," offered David, slapping him on the back and grabbing the jacket off his chair. "And welcome back, Charlie. Nice working with you again."

Don waited until the rest of the team had left, then looked at Charlie. Six weeks. He had been back as long as he had been gone, but he still hadn't offered up any details. He was back at everything — teaching, research, consulting — and he seemed to be happy at all of it. But sometimes he caught him looking out a window, a far-away look in his eye.

"I'll give you a ride home," Don said, putting on his jacket, then groaned. "I'm sorry. I keep forgetting you have a car now."

"Me too," Charlie laughed. "Since I still ride my bike at least half of the time. I can never remember by the end of the day which way I got to school. I wander around the bike rack for a while and if I can't find my bike, I head for the parking lot to look for my car."

Don laughed at the image. "So which was it today?"

Charlie held up his keys. "Car." The two began walking toward the elevator. "Why don't you follow me home, though? I'll make us something for dinner."

Don agreed, and the two were soon standing in Charlie's kitchen. "Dad!" called Charlie, and Alan looked up from the chair in the living room. He looked at his watch and put down the book he had been reading.

"Hey, Charlie, lost track of time," he said. As he came into the kitchen he saw his other son. "Donnie! This is a nice surprise."

"Yeah," Don caught the bottle of beer his brother tossed from the refrigerator. "Charlie invited me over for dinner."

Charlie was taking something else out of the refrigerator. "That's ok, isn't it Dad?"

"Of course," Alan said, sitting at the table. "I got your note that you'd like to cook tonight. You found something special at the store today?"

"Right, I went to the fish market," Charlie answered.

"Oh, right," Alan suddenly remembered something. "There's a package for you, on the counter. Came from Oregon today."

By now Don was sitting at the table too, and Charlie grabbed a small box and joined them. Ripping it open, he saw a letter lying on top of packing material, and he quickly opened it. As he read, he smiled, laughed out loud once. Don and Alan just watched. Charlie carefully folded the letter, put it on the table and rustled around the packing material. His hand came out of the box with an 8 x 10 picture frame. He stared at it for a while, placed his fingers softly on the glass in one or two places. His eyes took on that far-away look again. Finally he handed it to Don. "A Jenna Carver original," he said. Alan crowded around the end of the table so that he could see it as well.

"My G-d, Charlie, that's you!" exclaimed his father.

Don looked at the pencil sketch. Two men, one of them obviously Charlie, hip dip in a river, lines cast. In the background, between them but slightly closer to the other man, a woman looking down at a sketch pad sat on the bank.

"The detail is incredible," continued his father. "It looks like that first postcard you sent."

Don continued to look at the picture for a long time, and wondered if his brother would ever tell him anything about when he had been gone. It looked like a good story. "It's beautiful," he said, handing it back to Charlie. His brother put it carefully back in the box, along with the letter, and got up from the table again to wash his hands, look out the window. Turning toward the stove, he began talking.

"I found some pretty good looking salmon fillets," he said, "although they won't be as good as fresh. I'll have to modify Jenna's campfire recipe, too," he added, routing through a cupboard.

"Would you like me to make a salad to go with that?" Alan asked.

"Sure, Dad, if you want. I could do it," answered Charlie.

Alan purposely brushed an arm as he passed behind him. "I've got it," he said. "Donnie? Charlie's doing the fish, I'm doing the salad, what are you doing?"

"I'm doing the beer," said Don, taking another swig, and Charlie laughed.

"You should taste Spring Chinook, over a campfire," he said. Then he added, "Donnie, you and I should go fishing, next spring. Take a long weekend or something, go to Oregon. You would love this river. Might take you a day or two to shake off the city, but I promise you, you'd love it."

"If I caught any fish," Don said, "then you would cook them?"

"Of course," Charlie said, his back to his brother. "Which means you will be cleaning and filleting them first."

"Hey! That's part of the cooking!" protested Don.

"Is not," Charlie assured him. "Fisherman cleans his own catch."

Alan just kept working on the salad. He listened to his sons bicker, and he smiled.


End file.
